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One
The Irish setter dozing on the rag rug in front of the hearth lifted her head and whined. Grant looked up from his book. The shrieking of the wind was nothing new. The weather had worsened progressively during the past two hours, and the gusts of blowing snow buffeting the small cabin were increasingly loud. The howling storm wasn’t entirely unprecedented for late December in central Virginia, and on his sky-high mountaintop the inches of white stuff were piling up fast.
But the dog had slept through most of it. Why was she uneasy now? She growled low in her throat, rising and lumbering toward the door. Her age and accompanying arthritis made her slow. The dog sniffed the door.
He stood and followed her. “What is it, girl?” Automatically he checked for the rifle standing to the left of the doorframe, just out of sight of any intruders. He enjoyed his self-imposed isolation, but he wasn’t immune to its dangers.
The dog barked, a sharp, quick sound filled with knowledge denied to the inferior hearing of humans. Grant felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as his pulse picked up. What was out there? A bear? A bobcat? Either was a possibility.
Something hit the door, and the dog went wild, scratching and pawing at the sturdy oak. Grant hesitated for a split second, and then a sound, almost surely human, made the decision for him. He unlocked the door and jerked it open, jumping back in surprise when a bundle of snow-covered cloth tumbled in and literally landed on his feet.
The next few minutes were chaotic. The dog jumped and barked at the lump on the floor while Grant struggled to close the door against the force of the wind. When he finally managed that and quieted the frantic dog, the resulting silence resonated with unanswered questions. He knelt cautiously and put a hand on what he now could see was a person’s shoulder. Gently, he turned him/her over.
He sucked in a shocked breath. His visitor was definitely a woman, but for one heart-stopping second he thought she might be dead. Carefully, he edged the hood back from her face, brushing aside the layers of caked snow and ice. Her hair, once freed, was a reddish-gold, lighter at the back of her head where it was still dry.
Her skin was so white and her lips so blue, she looked like the ice princess he remembered from a childhood fairy tale. He stripped away her sodden gloves and felt for a pulse, sighing shakily when he found one. But it was by no means steady.
He removed her damp outer garments, including her pants that were wet to the knee, then raced to a hall closet and retrieved a heavy wool blanket. Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her closer to the fireplace and snagged a couple of sofa cushions to make her a nest. The dog curled up beside their unexpected guest, offering her own warmth as well.
He tugged off the woman’s shoes, grimacing when he saw they were cloth sneakers rather than boots. The socks were wet through, so he tossed them aside and began rubbing his charge’s delicate feet. She was slender all over, including a pair of spectacular legs, which he’d been hard-pressed not to notice as he wrapped her up. Nor did he spend an inordinate amount of time admiring the lacy pink panties that were now safely hidden.
When it seemed as if the blood was finally flowing back into her extremities, he checked her pulse once again and grunted with satisfaction. It felt markedly stronger.
Without warning, her eyes opened.
He released her wrist, feeling strangely guilty. He watched her warily.
One hand gripped the blanket, pulling it toward her chin. Her eyes were amber, an unusual color a few shades lighter than his dog’s soft coat. Her lips moved but no sound emerged.
Grant leaned closer, smiling to reassure her. “You’re okay. I’m Grant Monroe. This is my cabin.”
Her free hand reached out and grabbed his arm, her slender fingers gripping him so tightly her nails left crescent-shaped marks on his skin. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “My bag. Please get my bag.”
He frowned. Surely she didn’t expect him to go out in the storm for a few personal possessions.
She must have seen his instinctive refusal. Her eyes welled with tears. “Please. It’s important.”
He wasn’t immune to such naked entreaty. He tucked her arm beneath the blanket and rose to his feet. “Okay. But don’t move. You need to stay by the fire until you thaw out.” Her eyes drifted shut, and he didn’t know if she heard him or not. Her skin was regaining a bit of color, but she still looked infinitely fragile.
He dressed quickly in his coat and snow boots and wrapped a heavy scarf around his head. He had a high-powered flashlight that should give him enough illumination, despite the gathering gloom of dusk. When he opened the door, a swirl of snow entered the room, and he exited quickly, unwilling to sacrifice any of the cabin’s precious heat. The cold and wind took his breath away.
He brushed flakes from his eyes and stumbled down the steps, shining a beam of light in front of him. Her small footprints were still visible, but just barely. The heavy snow was filling them rapidly. He followed the narrow indentations, stopping now and again to make sure he was on the right track. About thirty yards from the cabin he found what he was looking for.
A large, black backpack lay in the snow, its bulky outline softened by a thin blanket of white. He picked it up by one strap and cursed as he realized how heavy it was. That slip of a female had been carrying this? Impossible.
He trudged back to the house, pausing on the porch to stomp his feet and brush the worst of the snow from his clothing. Inside, the dog barked a greeting but didn’t move from her post. She seemed to understand the gravity of the situation. Grant dumped the pack in a chair and knelt beside the dozing woman. When he touched her cheek, her eyes flew open. “Did you find it?”
He motioned across the room. “It’s over there.” The relief in her eyes made him glad he’d done as she asked.
He detoured to the bedroom and rummaged in a drawer for the heaviest socks he could find. When he returned and put them on her feet, she barely moved. He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “I’m going to heat up some soup and hot chocolate. Won’t take but a minute.”
* * *
Maddy peeked from beneath her eyelashes and watched as he left the room. Her pulse beat with rapid jerks that had as much to do with her rescuer’s almost-overpowering presence as it did with her recent ordeal. He was a huge man, broad through the chest and shoulders, and tall enough to tower over her even if she was standing.
But the kindness in his deep blue eyes and the gentle touch of his hands erased any qualms she might have felt about her safety.
In hindsight, entering a strange man’s cabin in the middle of nowhere was not the smartest move she’d ever made, but at the time her options had been limited. Even if Grant Monroe had been a card-carrying member of an antigovernment survivalist militia group, she would probably have kissed his feet and thanked him for bringing her in out of the cold. Seeing the light in his window had literally saved her life.
